


Sir Spades

by MonsieurMadeleine



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU 18th Century, Anal Sex, Ghost Hannibal Lecter, Ghost Sex, M/M, Paranormal, Paranormal games, Past Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 01:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14945015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsieurMadeleine/pseuds/MonsieurMadeleine
Summary: All that remains of Hannibal Lecter is his title: Sir Spades.





	Sir Spades

**Author's Note:**

> I got the inspiration for this story from https://theghostinmymachine.com/2016/01/04/the-most-dangerous-games-lady-spades/ so go and check that out if you like.  
> And sorry for the shortness of this first chapter. The next Will be longer.

All that remains of Hannibal Lecter is his title: Sir Spades. The curse he set is one of the few things every single inhabitant of Baltimore would be perfectly able to recite. They will always speak of Sir Spades, by lack of his real name. Yes, it had been a fairly mysterious man of which the inhabitants themselves knew very little. That what they would recite is that what he did, and the punishment dealt out for it.

* * *

 

_It had been early 1772 when the man had come to the (then small) city of Baltimore. He would tell all that desired to know that he had come from the faraway Lithuania, along with the fact that he had been a psychiatrist back in his hometown. But people had turned aganst him there - that he also claimed - but never specified why. Wel... It would've had something to do with a woman, he admitted later. But as he wasn't that popular in his hometown anymore, he decided to travel around a bit and see where his help was needed. And thus he ended up in Baltimore._

_Once settled, he decided to start a tiny psychiatric office, offering his help to all that were in need of it. Atop of that asking a reasonable price for doing so. And soon the whole city came to him,  desiring his help. All the previous suspicions went out the window. In fact, he became very popular, everyone loved him. Perhaps it was for the face, the hair or his perfect black suits. It was the latter that earned him the title Sir Spades, that in reference to the playing card he resembled._

_But to this popularity a downside was added all too soon. All the women swooned at the mere sight of him. Mother turned against daughter, sister against sister and friend against friend, all in the name of receiving a single one of the man's signature smiles. The one when his mouthcorners would twitch just a bit and his eyes would smolder. The ones he seldom showed. But then the men turned against this beautiful stranger as well, believing he purposely stole the hearts of their wives and sweethearts. But as it was more often than not; they could've known that this was not the case. He never responded to any kind of advances he was presented with. For his desires rested elsewhere. And yet the men envied him, now realizing what his flaw had been. A flaw they too would become victims of in the five torturous years that followed._

_Every patience is unique, all may be stretched to a certain point yet no further. But in the winter of 1777 - more or less five years after the stranger's effects started to appear - the patience had been stretched to its limits, then stretched further. Who did this man think he was, stealing the hearts of all ladies that dared meet his eye?_

_And now the men had sickened themselves, waiting for a change that wouldn't come. Nothing was achieved in doing so. To save both marriages and the city itself, the men decided to so the one thing they dreaded so passionately._

_On a early morning in September, the men stormed the psychiatrists carefully earned estate, bringing weapons and fire. They found the unsuspecting man perfecting his hair before a mirror. They beat the man savagely and tore his perfect face to shreds. And above all, they cut off the man's fingers so that he would never find satisfaction in a wedding ring. It hadn't been necessary, however: after doing so they left him to die - only the mirror and thus his distorted image for company - by the fire they set on the house._

_During the whole process, the man hadn't said a word of protest. He had just allowed it to happen. Even as the fire threatened he didn't make any effort to escape. He just stumbled to the window where he was seen falling to his knees, the smoke undoubtedly suffocating, the now not-so-perfect black suit undoubtedly hot. And yet no words were spoken. Well... save for the man's last breath. Despite the fact that nobody actually heard him do so, the legend states he used his last breath to curse all that dared say his name before a mirror._

_What would be forgotten over time was the strange, almost pleased smile playing his lips._

* * *

 

And that's the story, for all that desire to know.

All that remains of Hannibal Lecter is his title: Sir Spades. 

Oh... And the curse, of course.


End file.
